


The Art Room

by DrownedRedhead



Series: The Arts College [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College AU, Fluff, M/M, art student yams, college dj tsukki, implied Yachi and Kiyoko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:36:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6365116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrownedRedhead/pseuds/DrownedRedhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamaguchi Tadashi had a mild infatuation with the college radio late night DJ and now he's been found out and asked out. Tsukishima Kei is going to be the death of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Art Student

Yamaguchi Tadashi thinks that there are two types of people. The first type are the drunks. When they want to stop thinking, they get drunk, or get high. The second are the workers. When they want to stop thinking, they throw themselves into some task until their dreams are filled with that task. Yamaguchi is of the latter type.

This is why the Traditional Arts teacher finds him at his canvas at six in the morning. He doesn’t notice her at first, because he has his music up loud enough to effectively shut out the rest of the world. Generally, Yamaguchi likes the quiet of early morning, and if he does have music playing it’s quiet – background music. Not today. Over the semester, the Traditional teacher likes to think she’s gotten to know him fairly well, so she simply lets him paint his feelings. She does the same, after all.

Yamaguchi is not exactly a morning person, but he hadn’t been able to sleep. He kept tossing and turning, fading in and out. He probably only got around two hours of sleep total. He couldn’t stop thinking about how ridiculous his situation was. Had he really stepped far enough out of his comfort zone to flirt with the college radio DJ he’d only been listening to for weeks? That was not his way. A treacherous voice in his head makes him frown and turn up his music a little.

_What if you never liked anyone else as much as you do him?_

Preposterous. He smacks his brush down a little too forcefully and it splatters on the canvas. He grunts and steps back, staring at it. It’s fine, he decides, and doggedly continues to drown out his thoughts with music and paint.

Yamaguchi has no morning classes, because he’s not a morning person, so he stays in the Traditional Arts room for some time. The teacher doesn’t kick him out when her first class shuffles in, mostly yawning but he saw a few annoyingly bright eyed students, so he stays, tucked into a corner with the sun streaming just behind his canvas. No one pays him any mind.

At exactly ten thirty, Yamaguchi sets about cleaning up his space. He washes the brushes and pallet. He tosses the apron in a little washing machine that the teacher had sprung for herself because she said “you’re not finished until you’ve cleaned up” and she considered washing the aprons part of that. Then comes the canvas, which he stores carefully and after he puts the easel away. He washes up and finally pulls off his headphones.

“Morning, Saito-sensei.”

“Good morning. Are you feeling okay?”

“How are we defining okay?” He asks, lip curled up at one edge. She smiles in response, eyes sympathetic. Yamaguchi hitches his bag on his shoulder and leaves, uncomfortable with the way she smiled at him like she knew. Girl troubles, she probably thought. Well. The basic point wouldn’t be wrong. Yamaguchi sighs and wanders towards his next class.

Yamaguchi is the type of person who throws himself into work, and he does this in his classes as much as he had one his latest piece. Already a good student, his teachers are still surprised by the bright, unyieldingly intent gaze turned on whatever Yamaguchi is doing. Several recognise the look; people with passions tend to be the second type.

Yamaguchi goes back to his room to eat lunch. After his last class, he goes back to the Traditional Arts room and fetches out his canvas. He isn’t bothered by the students and he doesn’t bother them. He puts his canvas on an easel in the back of the room and leans against the wall a while, staring at it and listening to the lecture being given about the European Renaissance. Eventually, his thoughts come wandering back and he plugs his ears with music, erases his mind with paint.

Are you in love, Tadashi? Have you fallen into a fairy tale, love at first sight? What are you going to do now?

Yamaguchi’s hand hovers a few centimetres away from the canvas and he stares at it, eyes blank, trying to work through his feelings. Anxiety, something warm and fuzzy, more anxiety, butterflies, fear, and some internalized homophobia – going to have to work on that one.

Yamaguchi looks up and starts back a couple steps. There, leaning against the wall, watching him with an amused expression, is Tsukishima Kei. Yamaguchi mumbles a greeting, trying to rub dried paint off his cheek and put his paintbrush down with the same hand.

“Been a while,” Tsukishima says, smiling. Yamaguchi fumbles, stutters a little, then finally forces out a greeting.

“Um, yeah, Hello again.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Tsukishima says, pushing away from the wall to step closer to Yamaguchi, who steps back instinctively. “Why don’t you go out with me Saturday? There’s a new café opening and it looks really nice.”

Yamaguchi opens and closes his mouth, flailing mentally for something to grasp onto, anything. Tsukishima raises an eyebrow at him and Yamaguchi realises he’s fisted a hand into Tsukishima’s jacket. He really looks very nice, Yamaguchi reflects, snatching his hand away.

“I, um, sure,” Yamaguchi manages, hands fluttering at his sides nervously. His heart beats heavily in his ears and he knows his face has darkened from a dark gold ochre to a more maroon sepia colour. Tsukishima seems perfectly in control of himself, a tiny smirk playing on his lips. Yamaguchi swallows. “I’d like that,” he finishes, voice trailing off into an uncertain whisper.

Tsukishima has up to now leaned down a few inches, closing in on Yamaguchi. They’ve ended up crowded against the back wall with Tsukishima’s face only inches from Yamaguchi’s. Yamaguchi feels like perhaps he should be embarrassed but all he feels is the normal anxiety. In fact, he feels oddly calm, comforted by the heat of the man and the calm, self-assured way that Tsukishima speaks. Now that thought frightens and embarrasses him, and he pushes Tsukishima away, feeling his face darken another couple shades.

“I’d like that,” he repeats, sliding past Tsukishima and heading for the sink. Tsukishima watches him clean the brush and pallet and Yamaguchi feels lightheaded with all the blood in his body setting up shop in his face rather than circulating correctly. Yamaguchi goes to put his canvas away and Tsukishima stops him with a hand to his chest. Yamaguchi’s heart beat skyrockets.

“Saturday, remember. Meet me in the quad around noon?” Tsukishima suggests, dropping his hand. Yamaguchi feels a distinct pang of longing at the loss of contact and stamps it down furiously, nodding instead. He stands and stares dumbly after Tsukishima as he leaves. They've only known each other the last two days and he already thinks he might have a heart attack.

Yamaguchi rubs his temples, getting water from the paintbrush tucked between his fingers on his forehead. Saito-sensei has already left, telling him to lock up once he finishes up with his painting. Yamaguchi feels a little bad because he thinks she’s worried about him. He locks the door behind him and gets the very distinct feeling that the rest of the week is going to pass in particularly distracted fashion.


	2. The College DJ

Tsukishima Kei can’t sleep. Or rather, every time he closes his eyes, he sees Yamaguchi’s startled, blushing face behind his eyelids. He turns over in bed, wishing desperately that Yamaguchi was here with him, if only so he could trace the other man’s freckles with a finger. He wants to trace constellations into his dark skin and watch his eyes grow big and his face flush and– Tsukishima turns over in bed again.

Tsukishima has never considered himself particularly emotional. As a child, he was a little more open than he is now, but even then emotional displays were never his forte. Emotional attachments aren’t his forte either; he has difficultly committing himself to things that could end in pain. Making friends, let alone keeping them, even his relationships with his family are a little strained though his family understands him much better than most.

And now here he is, heart in his throat and stomach twisting several hours after his first true encounter with Yamaguchi Tadashi. That spattering of freckles, the deep colour of his skin, the soft slope of his cheekbones, that mussed black hair. Tsukishima grumbles to himself, curling in on himself and clinging to his blanket. This is going to be difficult.

Around nine, Tsukishima sighs heavily and rolls out of bed. He untangles himself from his blankets and tosses it back onto the bed. Stumbling through his morning routine, Tsukishima finds himself still thinking about Yamaguchi and the sharp little gasp he made when Tsukishima had startled him.

Tsukishima spends the morning doing homework, or pretending to do homework while in reality messing around with an audio editing software Yachi had recommended. He does get most of his homework done, just, slowly and in bits and pieces. He has only one class today and he uses the morning to consider his next step.

Pushing the bass up on the audio in front of him absently, Tsukishima hums when the image of Yamaguchi’s flustered face intrudes into his thoughts. Biting his lip to ground himself away from the wanderings of his imaginations, Tsukishima starts the short track over and drums his fingers on his knee.

Yamaguchi was somehow exactly what he’d expected and not at all what he’d thought. He’d thought that the person submitting music requests would be, maybe a little more indie looking, given the music choices. But he’d been so normal looking. So average. He wasn’t some unbelievably attractive movie star, but… But the way that the dim, flickering light had played on his dark skin and how cute that dusting of freckles had been and the way he’d turned scarlet and-

“Tsukishima-kun? Are you okay?”

Tsukishima looks up at Yachi blankly, not understanding. Looking back at his computer, he sighs. His headphones are silent. He’s been staring at the computer screen for five minutes without doing anything. She’s probably been trying to get his attention.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m just working with that program you showed me.”

“Oh yeah? Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” he says, saving the full minute of track he’s managed despite having been experimenting with the program for two hours and closing his laptop. Biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from sighing and worrying Yachi, Tsukishima stands, tucking his laptop back into his laptop bag.

“Um, Tsukishima-kun?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You look, kind of, um, kind of like you just got kicked in the stomach,” Yachi manages, stumbling over finding exactly what his expression is to her. Tsukishima frowns, trying to decide if he wants to explain to Yachi that he thinks he’s fallen in love with someone he’s just met.

Fallen in love.

Yachi looks terrified when Tsukishima’s face contorts into a sickly frown. She flails a little, touching his shoulders to steady him when he sways a little. He sits back down, feeling sick to his stomach.

“It’s fine,” Tsukishima mumbles, waving off Yachi’s nervous attentions. He props one elbow on his knee and buries his face in his hand, ignoring the way his glasses skew. What happened to emotions not being his forte? Or maybe that was why the thought made him sick.

“Tsukishima-kun, um, are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

“How’d you start dating your girlfriend?” He asks, surprising both of them. Yachi squeaks and chews at her lip, tugs at the hem of her skirt and sweats. Finally, she rolls her shoulders and looks at him.

“She asked. I was too scared to approach her, but I guess she noticed me, um, watching her sometimes, and she talked to me. Kiyoko asked me to be her friend and then, after a while, she asked.”

Tsukishima rubs his eyes and sighs, standing. Yachi takes a couple steps back and he smooths his expression relatively. “Was that too personal? Sorry. I have to go,” he mumbles and turns to leave in an uncomfortable hurry. Yachi catches him by the sleeve then let’s go as if it’d burned her when he glares.

“If,” she stumbles and swallows. “If you like someone, you should say something. It’ll just hurt in the end if you don’t.”

Tsukishima grunts and walks away. He isn’t sure where he’s going until he walks past the art room. Glancing in, he stops in the hallway, entranced.

Yamaguchi looks good covered in paint. His face is screwed up with intense focus and his hands are steady. Sunlight filters through the windows and strikes highlights in his hair, sparkles off his eyes.

Tsukishima sighs at his fanciful imaginings and, after a moment of hesitation, walks into the room. Yamaguchi does not seem to notice him, so intent is he on his painting. Tsukishima circles around to look at the painting. Something abstract in blacks and golds and reds. He hums quietly and leans against the wall beside Yamaguchi.

Finally, the artist looks up and starts in surprise, stumbling back a couple steps. Yamaguchi mumbles a greeting and seems to attempt to simultaneously rub dried paint off his cheek and put his paintbrush down.

“Been a while,” Tsukishima says. He tries to smile, to be soothing. Not his strong suit, but it seems to work a little.

“Um, yeah, Hello again,” Yamaguchi mumbles, stuttering a little. Tsukishima is suddenly astounded by how stunning Yamaguchi is, from his mussed hair and paint stains all the way to his wiry muscles and perfect freckles. Not movie star attractive indeed!

“I’ve been thinking,” Tsukishima says, pushing away from the wall to step closer to Yamaguchi, who steps back. Not to be disheartened by his intimidating stature, Tsukishima stops but continues speaking. “Why don’t you go out with me Saturday? There’s a new café opening and it looks really nice.”

Yamaguchi opens and closes his mouth. Tsukishima freezes when Yamaguchi reaches out, curling paint stained fingers into his jacket. He raises an eyebrow at the strained, nervous expression on Yamaguchi’s face. Just say yes or no already, it’s not that hard. Yamaguchi snatches his hand back, seeming to have misunderstood his expression.

“I, um, sure,” Yamaguchi manages, hands fluttering at his sides nervously. Tsukishima imagines he can hear Yamaguchi’s heart beating and he’s flushed darkly. It’s quiet pretty. His own heart is racing and he bites the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his own face from flushing. It’s going to suck to eat after all this. Yamaguchi swallows, seeming to get enough control over himself to say, “I’d like that,” though he finishes in a whisper.

The urge to kiss Yamaguchi has increased more and more with every word and Tsukishima realises that he’s leaned down. He smells like acrid acrylic paint and what he thinks a faint undertone of the very distinctive scent of pine. From the easels perhaps? Yamaguchi seems aware of how close he is, pressed back against the wall and looking up at him calmly, despite the blushing. Tsukishima almost kisses him right then and there but Yamaguchi suddenly blushes even deeper and pushes at Tsukishima’s shoulders until he steps back.

“I’d like that,” Yamaguchi repeats, stumbling a little over the words. Tsukishima swallows a sigh, watching Yamaguchi take the brush and pallet to the sink. His hands, so steady before, tremble in the water. Tsukishima takes a moment to ground himself, his own hands trembling, before Yamaguchi turns to take the painting off the easel. Impulsively, Tsukishima reaches out and stops him with a hand to his chest. The feeling of Yamaguchi’s heartrate, stuttering and heavy under his hand, makes his own heart beat speed up.

 “Saturday, remember. Meet me in the quad around noon?” Tsukishima suggests, dropping his hand. He has the feeling if he left it there any longer his heart would explode. Yamaguchi nods, smiling weakly. Tsukishima leaves, heart thundering in his ears. He stops outside the building, leaning against the brick wall and trying to calm himself. He has a reputation of aloofness, after all, he can’t go walking around looking like a love-sick puppy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry this took so long! Life has just been piling up on me. Thank you for all the encouragement!  
> Also, I need to name my cafe. Suggestions?

**Author's Note:**

> People have been asking, so my artistic soul mate and I finished up this next thing! It might take a bit longer to get the next chapter out than it has for me before, but we'll try to get it finished up.


End file.
